One Line
by mia101
Summary: Temperance visits Booth after "The Verdict in the Story". Just a quick two-shot to celebrate how lovely the episode was.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: sooo... clearly, i have a problem. i am unable to be "without fic". i have finals to study for, but last night's episode was just so fantastic i HAD to write a little something. :) this is only a two-shot, since jamie and i have something bigger in the works, but i thought i'd just do this for fun. hope you all like it -- please let me know what you think. part two should be up shortly. xoxo mia**_

**One Line **

A two-shot.

His eyes flicker towards the clock first at the first knock at his door. It's late, after twelve-thirty. He's been sitting in a chair by the living room windows for awhile now, two fingers of scotch glowing in the bottom of a glass.

But he isn't drunk. He's been replaying the minutes spent on the stand today, has been remembering her face from across the courtroom. Never in his life had he so badly wanted to deny the truth, to thwart the system, to spit on justice. He'd zeroed in on her eyes, shining like headlights across the room, and he'd wanted to lie.

But he hadn't. He'd sat there for several moments, watching her. She'd tilted her head, a challenging look in her eyes. She'd told the attorney he'd picked up his son, had set this all into motion, and now she wanted him to do it – wanted him to let these people believe that she could have killed someone.

And sitting here, in his living room, he realizes now that people will most likely assume that he'd admitted that they'd been apart long enough because of his strict sense of honor, of his belief in the justice system. That he couldn't lie because he'd sworn before God that he would tell the whole truth.

But the whole truth is, in that moment, he would have lied. He would have gone against his oath if it meant protecting her, if it meant assuring no one would ever try to go after her. But she hadn't wanted him to. He'd seen it in her eyes; she'd wanted to do this, wanted to make the jurors doubt her. Her father's life was important enough for her to let people believe she could be a killer.

And so he'd said, in front of witnesses and a judge, that yes -- she'd had time. She'd barely moved a muscle, but he'd seen it. Even from the distance between them, he'd seen the light hit her eyes differently, had seen the shimmer there. That same shimmer had been in his own.

Whoever is at the door knocks again, and he stands slowly, the glass still in his hand. He's changed for bed, wearing only a pair of old sweatpants, and he has slippers on his feet. The room has a slight chill to it, but the liquor has made him feel warm, flushed.

He pauses when he pulls the door open, and he supposes he shouldn't really be surprised that she's here. Still, tonight, at the very least, she could have been exhausted enough to fall asleep, to sleep well knowing her father is safe.

"Hey," he says quietly, pulling the door open further. "Everything okay?"

She nods, looking slightly awkward. "Can I come in?"

He steps back so she can enter, watching her as she makes her way over to the windows where he's been sitting. He feels awkward himself, suddenly. He'd stood on the steps of the courthouse while she'd hugged her father, and he'd felt a swell rise in his chest as he'd seen the happiness so evident on her face. But he'd left only minutes later, giving her only a quick pat on the shoulder. It hadn't been his moment, his reunion.

But now she is in his living room, and he isn't sure why she's appeared.

He walks towards her slowly, feeling slightly exposed without a shirt. He sits on the arm of his chair, his hand holding his glass resting on his thigh. "You sure you're alright?"

She turns from the window, the moonlight highlighting the planes of her face. He can't read her expression, which worries him. Over the years, he's come to know her myriad of smiles and frowns, even to navigate the variety of her sighs. But tonight, her eyes are darker; a deeper blue.

"Thank you for what you did today," she says quietly, her eyes flickering around the room before landing back on him.

He takes in a deep breath. "I didn't do anything," he murmurs. "Except tell the truth."

"I know," she says, catching her lower lip between her teeth. "I never doubted you would."

He swallows, words rising in his throat, and he bites them back. He won't tell her what he would have done. She'd seen his struggle on the stand; he knows she had. But he figures she's attributed it to his disapproval over what she's done. Still, she has a strange look on her face, and he isn't sure what she means exactly. _I never doubted you would._

He waits for her to speak, to justify what she did, even though it isn't necessary. But she doesn't. She takes a step closer, and her fingers suddenly touch the ones holding his glass, and she tugs it from his hand gently.

He can offer to go get her a glass of her own, can get up and head to the kitchen, but he doesn't. He likes the intimacy of it, of her mouth being on the same glass.

She swallows, passing the glass back to him, and he turns it in his hand slightly so that when he takes a sip his lips fall where hers have – almost like a kiss.

"You look tired," he says quietly.

"I am." She turns back to gaze out his window, her lashes leaving a shadow on her cheeks. "I talked to my dad for quite awhile."

"I imagine so," he says, his mouth twitching slightly into a smile. Despite his job, despite his beliefs about right and wrong, he finds he likes her father. He's glad Max Keenan isn't a convicted murderer.

"He loves me," she says quietly.

"He's your father."

"Yes, but…" Her voice trails off, and she wraps her arms around herself, as if she is cold, and he has to fight back the urge to tug her into his embrace. "But he stayed for me. He stood trial for me; he gave up his freedom. Just to be near me."

He nods slowly. "People do all sorts of things for love."

She's quiet for a moment, and he drops his head, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass.

"Do you love me?"

His heart skips a beat, and his head snaps up quickly, his eyes locking with hers. She's facing him now, standing slightly in the shadow of the curtain, but her eyes still shine. "What?" he asks hoarsely.

She's so still, the slight rise and fall of her chest the only sign that time hasn't frozen. She's simply waiting, and he feels his throat start to close up.

It hangs there between them, her question, and his mind is racing so quickly he's barely able to pluck a single thought out. _Do you love me?_

She must sense his struggle, because she steps out of the shadows, coming closer. "You were going to lie."

His eyes widen. "What?" he chokes out, surprised.

"On the stand. I saw it," she says slowly, hesitantly. "And I was thinking about that, what that means." Her tongue sweeps out, moistening her bottom lip. "You trust the courts, you believe in justice."

He's frozen, unable to move as she comes closer, stopping right in front of him. "It wasn't just that you didn't want to tell the truth, was it? You wanted to lie."

With her standing in front of him while he sits, she is a bit taller, and he has to tilt his head up to look at her. He raises his glass again, taking a large, burning swallow of scotch before answering, his heart drumming against his ribcage.

"Yes," he manages. "Yes, Temperance. I wanted to lie."

Her eyes flutter closed for only a second, and then they're blazing blue again, locking with his. Her fingers reach out, brushing against his cheek, and he shivers as she finally touches him, feeling naked in front of her, exposed.

"I'm sorry I did that to you," she whispers. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put you in that position, but I –" She reaches out with her other hand, easing the scotch from his fingers, her hand trembling slightly.

He catches her other wrist gently, stilling her fingers against his face, and he shakes his head slowly. "You did what you felt you had to do," he says quietly. "I know that."

She nods, and he turns his head slightly, pressing a kiss to her palm, and now it is she who shivers, and she takes a step closer, standing between his knees. When she allows herself to be vulnerable like this, he has trouble remaining objective, keeping his distance. She is so many things to him after all these years. Every part of him responds to her when she walks into a room, when she fixes him with her gaze.

She is more maddening than any woman he's ever encountered, more stubborn, more frustrating. She's stronger, more independent, more driven in a way that continues to astound him each time it's displayed.

And beautiful – so much so that she does more than simply turn him on, light him up, drive him wild. It moves him, her beauty. It makes him ache when she brushes a hand through her hair, when her brow furrows with confusion or displeasure. He wants to take a thumb and smooth the lines of worry away, to promise her everything will be alright. Yes, she moves him -- especially like this, standing before him, her eyes naked and questing. He's a fool for her, a fool to have ever believed they could just be partners, just be friends.

"Yes," he rasps, his breath quickening. "Yes."

The line appears, the one between her eyebrows when she's trying to understand, and he realizes he took too long to answer her, to make his heart known. He dips his head, pressing his lips to the very tips of her fingers, gently, just so.

"Yes, I love you."

He hears her suck in a breath. She still does it, every time they solve a case, every time the truth finally comes out. Even if she's claimed to know, even if her so-called evidence has shown her indisputable proof, she still reacts the same way when the answer is finally revealed. He loves that about her, loves that she can claim to be so sure and still be surprised. One line, one simple line, and he's told her so much.

With the words finally out, finally released after years of being caged inside, swallowed back down, he feels a calm settle over him. Reaching for the scotch she's clutching tightly, he tugs it free, setting it on the windowsill before standing, causing her to step back as he rises.

He catches her as she backpedals, his hand cupping her face, and she stills. They're close, so close, barely an inch between them, and he lets his thumb sweep over her lower lip. Maybe he's telling her too much, telling her with his body not simply yes, but how he loves her. Maybe it's better left unsaid.

But her lips part, her breath whispering against his fingers, and he drops his head lower, hovering above her mouth, waiting.

And it's there in her eyes, that same look that she'd given him from across the courtroom this morning, saying, _Yes... Yes, do this. I want you to do this, I'm saying yes.  
_

Headlights from a car on the street sweep across the window, lighting her face, and he brushes his lips gently across her own, just a light touch. Her eyes flutter closed, and he lets his fall shut as well. He lets the sensation, the electricity that the simple touch brings sink into him for a moment, and they simply stand there, a breath apart.

And before he can open his eyes, she's back. Warm fingers press against the bare skin of his chest, and her mouth opens hotly against his. He grasps her hand, holding it against his heart, against the pounding beneath his ribs as he tilts his head, parting his lips against her kiss.

He feels her tongue, like velvet. It sweeps against his lower lip and then into his mouth, and his knees go soft, his head spins, and he lassos an arm around her waist, bringing her body against his own. His other hand slides around to cup the back of her head, and then he's really kissing her back, his own tongue sliding against hers, tangling into her mouth. _Yes, I love you._

They finally break apart, chests heaving, breaths ragged, and their eyes lock as they stand in front of the window. He's answered a question. But with one kiss, a thousand have appeared, and he searches desperately for an answer as she meets his eyes.

_**(if booth can talk about his feelings, so can you, right...? c'mon, tell me how you feel...)**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: wows. am amazed by all the generous feedback from some of you. thank you, really. i hesitated over this one, i really did. the episode was so great, the moments so subtle, that i wasn't sure i could pull this off. i hope this second half lives up to the first. xoxo mia**_

Part Two.

There is a moment, a brief one, where he thinks she might slip away, almost as if she's dissolving in his hands. She's faded in his dreams more than once. He'd be holding her, tasting her, feeling her body beneath him, and every time, he'd be pulled from sleep and away from her. His time with her is always interrupted; never complete.

When he's awake, he tries not to think of those times. He allows himself to look at her, to meet her eyes, to hug her tightly. He teases her and meets her eyes across a table in a diner, across the front seat of a car – he even lets his hand rest on the small of her back, guiding her from room to room.

But that's where it ends. He does not kiss her, he does not stand half-dressed with her in the moonlight and he certainly does not admit that he loves her.

But she doesn't disappear, and he's left standing still in front of the window, his heart pushing the blood through his body at a sharp and steady pace – _lub dub, lub dub._

His hand still clasps hers, pressed against his chest and over his heart, and he's sure she can feel its beat. The words have slipped out, have finally been released, but now the calm he'd felt moments ago has evaporated after his kiss, and he realizes the gravity of what he's done.

_I love you._

He closes his eyes tightly for a moment, trying to decide what to say, what to do next, how to rescue himself, and he feels her hand pulling away from his heart, slipping off his chest, and he doesn't want to see her leave, to see her walk away. So he keeps them shut.

And he's so prepared for her to walk silently around him or to awkwardly begin to speak that when her lips replace her hand over his pounding heart, he jerks slightly in surprise, his hand coming up to cup the back of her head.

"Temperance," he breathes. "What are you –"

She pulls back slightly, tilting her chin up and she meets his eyes, and hers are glimmering. "Kiss me again."

He hesitates for a moment, the tension hanging in the air as he wrestles with himself. If he kisses her again, he's not sure he can stop, not sure he can ever go back to the way things were. The kiss they've just shared – it can be explained away, filed under an emotional moment that they can both move on from. He loves her, yes. People love their friends; they love their partners. It doesn't have to change everything, they can continue as they were – he can bury it deep within himself.

But all that can't happen if he kisses her again.

"Bones," he whispers. "Today has been – emotional. And maybe this isn't what you –"

Her fingers curl around his bicep, the tips pressing into his skin. "Is what you said… was it about today? Was it to comfort me in some way, to reassure me in some way?"

She sounds hesitant, unsure, and he finds he hates the sound of doubt that's suddenly evident in her voice.

"No, no," he says hoarsely, his hand coming up to press against the side of her throat. "No."

Her lips press together and her eyelashes flutter suddenly, and he wonders if she's trying to blink back tears. She drops her gaze again for a moment, and his blood still continues its rushing circuit through his body while the seconds tick by in near-silence.

And then her eyes raise to his again, shining, a fan of blues, even in the lowlight of his living room. "Then kiss me."

Her words swirl around him, making him dizzy, and he feels a slight tremor as he lets his fingers slide lightly down her neck to the pulse at the base of her throat, and he feels the echo of her own heartbeat, matching his. _Lub dub._

Again he brushes his lips over hers gently, only an echo of a kiss, really, and she steps even closer, pressing her hips against his, the length of her along him, and he can feel the warmth radiating from beneath her clothes.

Tilting his head again, he allows his mouth to sweep over hers again; a shivery, simple kiss, and his knees feel weak and shaky. He takes a step back, his arm winding around her waist to pull her with him, and he drops into the chair, tugging her into his lap, her knees against his hips.

She tips down, cupping his face in her hands, kissing him more deeply, and he again touches his tongue to hers, tentatively at first and then more surely. He can taste the scotch in her mouth, on her tongue. The lining of her cheek is silky, and he traces the smooth pearl of her teeth, learning her mouth, discovering this new part of her he's never explored.

When they finally break away again, his fingers sift through her hair, tangling in the strands. "Say my name, my first name," he whispers.

She does, on a soft breath, barely escaping. _Seeley._

When he captures her mouth this time, his kiss is more insistent. The sound of her voice has swept through him, warming him from his head to the base of his toes, and he wants her taste again on his tongue, wants the flavor of her in his mouth.

She presses into him, her knees sinking deeper into the cushions of the chair, her head tilting to deepen the kiss. The share a breath for several moments, hands sliding slowly, and her fingers trail over the bare skin of his shoulders and down his arms, tracing the lines of muscle and bone.

He wants the same, wants to feel her skin under his fingers, and he slips his hands between them and she pulls her mouth from his, watching him silently as he slowly slips each button free and peels the cotton away from her skin.

All those images, all those pictures of her he's allowed himself in the middle of the night or the corner of a day don't compare with her skin under his hands. It's warm and it has texture; it's flushed from the blood that races through her. She isn't only a dream or a ghost that he's chasing. A silvery scar runs under his fingertips, a small birthmark catches his eye. Confronted with these slight imperfections and signs of a life lived, she's shockingly real, and he trembles. Dreams don't feel like this.

He cups the fullness of her breast finally, lifting it gently, and the strap falls from her shoulder, looping over her upper arm.

He lifts his head, meeting her eyes. "I dream of you," he confesses.

She swallows, her lashes fluttering. "I dream of you, too."

Shuddering, he drops his head between her breasts, his mouth opening against her skin, and she moans softly, shifting against him, tightening her thighs against him. He tugs the lace cups of her bra down, pushes the other strap away before pulling it from her entirely, and it is soon discarded on top of her shirt on the floor beside them. Her nipples are taut as he draws them into the warm recesses of his mouth, and he's hard in seconds, tilting his hips into hers as words tumble from her lips.

And as much as he loves her against him like this, the weight of her in his lap, he wants her beneath him. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he uses the other to push himself up and out of the chair. She winds her legs more tightly around his waist, and she lets her face drop to his shoulder, her cheek pressing against him and her eyes falling closed as he carries her down the darkened hall to where he sleeps.

When she's sprawled amongst the sheets, her hair a fan around her, he kneels at the foot of the bed, tugging her pants down over her hips and off her. He pauses to look down at her, her skin flushed pink, her body bare except for the simple panties she still wears. She's really here with him, finally. It's overwhelming, and he takes a deep breath before easing himself over her, settling between her legs.

He kisses her again, gently, and she wraps her arms around him, rolling and tumbling with him until she's the one suspended above him, her hair like a curtain around his face, their kiss a brief, perfumed secret. And then she's sliding lower, her fingers curling into the waistband of his sweats, and she dragging them down over his thighs, baring his skin as she goes.

She's sitting up, tugging them gently over his ankles when she surprises him. Cradling his foot in her hand, she bends down, pressing a soft kiss to his arch and his eyes water. "Temperance…"

"It hurt, you know," she whispers. "When I saw your xrays. I never told anyone, but when I saw what had happened…." She looks up at him, her eyes glittering, and sets his foot down gently, crawling closer to trace a finger over his ribs. "I felt an ache, my chest felt so tight…"

He is speechless, unable to respond, and a tear splashes onto his chest and she swipes at her cheek. It is, in her own way, an admission of love. She loves him, _has_ loved him, he realizes.

It hits him with full force, and he pulls her to him, on top of him and presses kisses all over her face, tasting the salt that's now there before dragging his tongue over her lower lip and sweeping into her mouth, curling her hair around his fingers.

When they again pull away, drawing rapid breaths, she meets his eyes, her lips parted and swollen from his kisses. "Show me," she says. "Show me how, how you make love."

He swallows thickly, shaking his head, amazed by her. "You already know," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her jaw. "This is how, how we are together. This is what it means."

She smiles suddenly, radiantly, and he can't control his own grin as it stretches his face. _Yes, this is what it means._

And then she's kissing him again, sweeping him into her storm, urging him along with the slight undulation of her hips and the coaxing of her tongue. Growling low in his chest, he flips her beneath him again, his hand slipping between them, falling into the damp curls between her legs.

"Temperance," he says, his voice breaking. "I – I don't… do we…?"

"I'm safe," she breathes, her fingers curling around him, stroking him. "You don't need anything with me." She's pushing her panties down over her thighs, struggling to bring her newly-bare body back against his.

He nods shakily, pressing a tender kiss to the side of her mouth. "I'm safe too," he whispers. "I promise."

She draws her knees up, pressing them into his sides, and when he sinks into her a sound escapes her he's never heard before; something intimate, something new. It is a sound one makes when their body joins with someone else's, a sound only a lover knows, and it drives him deeper, makes him gasp himself. He gathers her up in his arms, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her neck and shoulders as he moves within her. A sheen appears on their bodies, their skin dampening and shimmering as their hips roll together, gathering momentum.

"Temperance," he chokes out, his eyes searching for hers. He expects to find them shut but instead they are wide, amazed, full of light, and he pulls them both forward, together, over the line.


End file.
